It Wasn't First Place
by Oniksu
Summary: "Roger that, brother. We shall now begin 'Operation: Get Rid of Daddy's Trophy Wife' . . . and hopefully not kill anyone or get killed in doing so." [multi-chap]
1. August 2003

**It Wasn't First Place (Bully)**

**_By Oniksu_**

**_Summary:_**** "Roger that, brother. We shall now begin 'Operation: Get Rid of Daddy's Trophy Wife' . . . and hopefully not kill anyone or get killed in doing so."**

**Family | Rated T**

* * *

_"Honey, it's Pinky's dance recital next week."_

_"Next week already? Well, that's certainly quick. It's like yesterday we just enrolled her . . ."_

_"Hehe, time sure flies. Anyway, I'm planning to buy her a gift later. Should I get her, I don't know . . . new dancing shoes? What do you think?"_

_"I'll say. She's almost worn out her last one. And she'll love it, I'm sure."_

_"Of course. Dancing shoes it is."_

_"Come home early, by the way. We're having chicken fricassee for lunch."_

_"Mm-hmm, my favorite!"_

_"Bye, darling. Drive carefully, please."_

_"Sure, honey. I'll see you later . . . "_

* * *

**August 2003;**

Pinky Gauthier didn't own any black dresses anymore; she had outgrown them and given them to a little girls' charity two years ago. And since she needed one this Saturday, there was only one thing left to do: go out and buy one. It was a simple task: ride to the Aquaberry store, grab one from the racks, fit it, and then purchase it. Easier than pie. However, on that lonely Thursday afternoon, she didn't feel like going at all.

Thinking about black dresses made breathing a lot harder. She never liked black dresses, and she had been so happy parting with her old ones. They were only there for one purpose: funerals. She hated the very idea of funerals. Did they really have to go? On the day of the funeral, she could just lock herself in their library and shut her mind completely, maybe get a glass of water with her in case she felt thirsty. It would save her the trip and effort to buy a stupid dress.

She only wanted to sit all day on her bed and hug her Mommy's thirty-year-old hardbound copy of _Les Miserables _close to her chest. It had been quite a long time since it was taken out of the bookshelf, and a thin film of dust had coated it. It was a very thick book, and at that moment, to Pinky it was the perfect thing to hold in her arms. Mommy had held it a lot of times, and although the warmth wasn't the same as Mommy's, it was the closest thing to her gentle embrace she could find.

She remembered Mommy reading some parts of it to her and her twin brother Blake when they were younger. They enjoyed listening to their mother's sweet voice. In fact, she used to read fairytales to hospital children and they would join her sometimes. Sadly, they were not allowed near the young patients, so they watched sitting by the door. Afterwards they would usually head to the bookstore to get more books to read aloud to the kids.

When Pinky and Blake got tired of the classic fairytales, Mommy opted to read to them more '_adventurous'_ kinds of stories. That was when she opened up the old Harrington-Gauthier storage room and spent an entire day searching for books by Hugo, Alcott, and Austen. The nine-year-old Pinky had been astonished by the rustic hardcopy of _Les Miserables_, and decided they should read it first. In the book Pinky adored Eponine, even though she was such a hopeless pauper (Something about her character felt so . . . _authentic_.).

And now, there was no one to read to them anymore. Her mind was a clean slate, an empty well waiting to be filled with thoughts to think. The gears in her system refused to move. Thirteen-year-old Pinky couldn't even force herself to stand up. She knew her brother was feeling the same—she knew he was in the bathroom sobbing his heart out. She could even hear him talking to his pet goldfish.

Pinky held the book tighter and wept again, for the third time that afternoon. She was determined not to attend the funeral. If Daddy still wanted her to get that damned black dress, then she'd let one of the maids do it for her. That easy.

She had her reasons, anyway. She didn't want to see her mother's dead, ruined face. It would scar her mentally for life. And she would absolutely hate not being able to kiss or hug her goodbye.

Though what she hated most of all, the very reason why Pinky didn't want to attend that godforsaken funeral, was the fact that it was, in some way, her fault that she was gone.

* * *

Blake Gauthier eyed his grieving sister from across the dining table. Her eyes were swollen red from crying—like his, only worse. Both of them had spent the entire afternoon weeping, and he knew it wasn't enough. Tonight was another one of those rainy August evenings, and Blake couldn't help feeling a bit enlightened by it; it was as if the sky _sympathized_ with them. He stared at the soup before him. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, but he wasn't at all famished. The news about Mommy had devastated him so much he'd lost his appetite.

He'd cried so much that he felt drowsy. A sweet, undisturbed, ten-hour sleep would probably do, he thought. He needed to make up his mind on whether or not he would attend the funeral this Saturday. He was leaning onto no. He could also convince Pinky not to go, if she hadn't already thought of it. The fact that he didn't even bid Mommy goodbye when she left this morning made him feel guilty to the core. His last 'I love you' was already two days ago. Wasn't he just the best son ever?

_Why didn't you say it when you saw her making waffles this morning, stupid?_

He ignored the soup, instead taking a small sip of warm tea. He closed his eyes as the warm, minty drink soothed his prickly throat. When he opened his eyes Pinky was already eating very small amounts of her soup. He could tell she wasn't enjoying it.

Blake thought of cars. He liked cars; he'd always wanted to learn how to drive. Unfortunately, he would have to wait for three more years to be able to do so. He knew that they could be destructive, just as they could be functional—it's like everything else. Now that he knew what that destructive side really was, he swore to himself, that should he drive, he would always be careful. Alert. With no distractions, at all.

He was confident about it, that he would never get involved in vehicular accidents. Blake was a cautious boy, as he was taught to be by his hemophilia. Never once in his life did he prick a finger, scrape a knee, or get even just a small paper cut. Driving couldn't be too difficult a task, could it? At the end of the day, it all came down to how careful you handle these things . . .right?

He heard his sister cough. She had forgotten to blow her hot tea again. That was so her when she was feeling miserable. On times like these, Pinky's presence was almost ethereal. There was not a drop of bliss in her, and that made Blake feel even more lonesome. Only he and Pinky were at the huge table that evening, because Daddy was out arranging Mommy's funeral.

Oh, how he wanted pay her a visit. But part of him also didn't. _Don't go, Blake, because you'll regret it. You don't want to see her pale lifeless body just sprawled across a cold metal bed, right? And surely you don't want to see her disheveled face and her broken limbs . . ._

Blake felt his stomach churn. He could see the image in his head; a van crushed against Mommy's convertible, her head on the wheel, her skin incised by the shards of the windshield, metal pressed deeply against her thighs.

And _blood_. Blood running down her forehead, her nose, her chest, her . . .

He shifted, turned his head and vomited on the marble floor.

He cursed under his breath. _Why can't everyone just get sick and die? That way we'll have time for goodbyes and "I love you's" and all that crap._

* * *

**A/N:** First things first: I have not played Bully the way most of you around here have. A) I have not finished it, B) I've only played the Preppy chapter, and C) heck, I don't even own it. Um, is playing it once and being addicted to it already considered healthy?

Anyway, how was it? Blake is an OC I created sometime ago (So is he decent enough or not? Being the mean author that I am, I made them inbreds and as an effect, he has hemophilia and Pinky is, well . . . a carrier, I suppose?) It's also my first bully fic; hopefully it's at least coherent. What do you think? Did I miss something, anything? I'm done with Chapter Two by the way and I'll just edit it before posting tomorrow. Gord, Derby, and Bif are gonna be there. F*^$ yeaaah.

* * *

"A friend of mine has a trophy wife. But from the looks of her, it wasn't first place." ~Steven Wright (yeah btchs i got the title from that XD)


	2. December 2003

**December 2003;**

When she saw Derby Harrington walking towards her with a present in hand, Pinky straightened up. She automatically fixed her mittens and her hat and stood up from her chair. Smiling, her fourteen-year-old cousin handed her the carefully-wrapped package. It was the size of a bread box and almost as heavy as one, too. Derby bowed to greet her, took her clothed hand and kissed it.

Pinky wasn't sure if she should smile or laugh her guts out. It felt nice, though. It made her feel like the princess she was. "Merry Christmas, Derby," she replied. "You've received my gift, haven't you? I couldn't find you, so I handed it to uncle . . . did he give it already?"

Derby smirked. "Yes, he did, and it's really wonderful, Pinky. Thank you. I do hope you find mine just as precious."

"I know I will." Pinky was surprised she managed to not make an idiotic reply.

"I'll see you at dinner, then?"

"Sure." She waved as Derby pranced over to their friend Bif Taylor. They began chatting and laughing, which made Pinky feel nonexistent. That was exactly why she didn't hand over her gift personally. She was afraid Bif would come and wipe her out of Derby's sight again. Holding Derby's present, she took a breath and decided to look for Blake instead.

She passed by some relatives and greeted them. Mr. and Mrs. Spencer were present with their son, Tad, whom she had seen a few times in family gatherings. Pinky was flattered when he gave her a gift, but very flustered because she hadn't gotten one for him. She barely knew the boy! The same went with the Vandervelde boy, Justin, who, unlike Tad, she was completely unfamiliar with. She went to her room and stacked the presents on her bed.

When she found Blake, he was near the fireplace drinking chocolate while watching Gord Vendome play the piano. _Oh . . . he's back already?_ Gord was very close with the twins, having spent most of his Christmas vacations with them when they were kids. She never knew Gord played the piano, though. She remembered Blake telling her that he wanted to learn the instrument, but never had the time to take lessons. Right now his face was glowing with both envy and awe.

She approached them and Gord's playing became clearer. It sounded beautiful—maybe he'd been playing since he was little but he never got to tell them. Blake was oblivious of his surroundings, even of Pinky. She stood by Gord as he started playing "Angels We Have Heard on High". Blake sang along, and into the first verse Pinky decided to join him. By the time they were finished they were laughing, while some of the people in the room applauded them.

"Well, that was certainly amusing," Blake said, and then sipped some more chocolate.

The young pianist, wearing a grin so wide, rose from his seat. "Haha, indeed!"

Pinky ran immediately to embrace her friend and greet him a Merry Christmas. "I missed you so much, Gord! Where have you been? You never told us you were such an amazing pianist!"

Gord wrapped his arms around his friend and kissed her cheek lightly. "Thank you, princess. I have more secrets, I tell you." When they pulled away he returned the greeting. Afterwards he took out a small envelope from his pocket.

He placed it on Pinky's open palm. "Well, things _have_ been pretty difficult after sixth grade, you know. I see they've been for you, too," he said, looking Pinky in the eye. She knew what he meant—Mommy. It had been almost four months, and though she was already getting used to not having a mother around, she still mourned occasionally.

"I hope you like the gift, by the way. Go on, open it."

Blake, upon finishing his chocolate, shifted next to his sister and showed her a similar envelope, with the words "From Gord Vendome with love" meticulously written in ink. They tore the flaps and pulled out gold Aquaberry gift cards each worth $500.

Pinky squealed in delight, while Blake's eyes and smile widened in glee. "Oh my gosh, Gord, you're the best!" Pinky shrieked. The twins thanked their friend and wrapped him in another big hug.

They went to the ballroom to meet the other guests, most of them being Harrington-Gauthier comrades. But Pinky didn't really pay any attention to them. She enjoyed having Gord around, and that was what mattered. He was the closest thing to a brother she had other than Blake. In fact, Blake felt the same way, too. And considering they had not seen each other since sixth grade, they decided to make the most of the day by being in each other's company—it was even better than the $500 Aquaberry GCs . . . yes, definitely.

They were about to go to the dining hall when a complete stranger of a woman came to them. She was almost the same height as Pinky, and had a heavily made-up face and a slender figure. Pinky swore. She was wearing one of _Mommy's_ favorite custom vintage dresses. She shook her head, refusing to believe what she was seeing. _But I thought Daddy got rid of those already . . ._ Pinky might be mad to admit that it looked nice on her, but it did, though not as good as it had been on Mommy, for sure. She gripped on Blake's hand when she let out a smile to their direction. And she squeezed her brother's arm so painfully hard when Gord greeted her.

"Well, good day, Mrs. Gauthier," he said, bowing slightly.

"Hello, dear," She replied. "Not yet, but soon." Her voice was high-pitched and almost icy, very different from their mother's, which was sweet and syrupy, almost dreamlike. She turned to Pinky. "And hello to you, too. You must be Pinky." Then to her brother. "And you must be Blake," she said.

Blake, dumbfounded, took the hand the woman—Mrs. Gauthier—had extended and shook it. "Y-yes?"

Pinky ignored her and asked Gord, "Did you just say _Mrs._ Gauthier?"

Gord nodded. He smiled nervously and gave Pinky a puzzled look. "Don't you know? Your father's getting married next—"

_Oh no._ "What?! I did _not_ ask for a stepmother!" Pinky cried. "DADDY!"

Blake grabbed her by the shoulders, trying to calm her down. "Okay, what's going on?" He eyed the young woman. "Excuse me, uhhh, ma'am, but who on earth are you supposed to be?"

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry, you must not have heard the news yet. You seem so, um, overwhelmed," she said softly. "I'm Lisbeth. Didn't your Daddy tell me about you? We're . . . getting married next month. So it means, you know, I'll be your new Mommy . . ." Her voice trailed off.

Blake scoffed as she finished her statement. Pinky was still hot with rage in his same thoughts echoed in both of the Gauthier children's minds: _Is this Daddy's Christmas gift? A _stepmother_? Surely he knows better than getting a random college girl and planning to marry her just like that! Is this outsider even capable of proper, high-class parenting? And how dare she wear Mommy's dress!_

It took a while for Blake's mind to process the thought. "God, no way. You're like, what, eighteen?" He spat.

The woman let out an awkward chuckle. "Close enough, sweetie."

* * *

**A/N:** It was so awkward writing this idk why. :/ But it's there now, anyway, so why should I worry? BTW I would love it if you'd kindly point out any errors which I may not have seen, or tell if I didn't write the characters properly. I'll even love you for it. :) I also apologize if the name Lisbeth annoys you. It annoys me, too, believe me, but the name has been floating around in my head for such a long time that I felt I had to use it for a character already.

Next chappie is the wedding, I guess? Ehhh, expect more Preppie friends.

_P.S. I liked Gord in this chapter._


End file.
